When I was a young kid I would always imagine myself growing up.
Sitting in the corner of my room tossed away by my unloving parents. In those times I would try to escape the real world by drawing. In my world it was just me and what made me happy. I'd draw myself being a model. I'd hum to myself and draw myself being a singer. I'd draw myself being an actress and winning awards.
I always dreamed of growing up and being known. I wanted people to care. I didn't even care if they were just strangers, I just wanted to be cared for.
I never had that unconditional love that you are supposed to get from your parents. Ever since I was young I can never remember my parents ever paying attention to me or playing with me or just plain giving me parent love. I was left in my room. Alone. All I had was old paper and a box of worn out crayons.
I'd draw myself living a happy life with a loving mother and father by my side giving me hugs and kisses. I'd draw us all having breakfast together, eating happily and laughing. Blues, reds, greens, yellows, purples, pinks, strewn across the pages drawn by my eight year old self.
I guess the reason why I wanted to be a singer or an actress is because people love you and people look up to you. Having that empty spot in my life not being filled by my parents led me to seek and want more attention.
I wanted to be a model because I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted people to want to be me. Ever since I was small there was always that itch in the back of my mind that was jealous of everyone. And to this day it's still there.
Being a kid, I never imagined myself being where I am. Living in a haunted house. Witnessing death multiple times. Almost being murdered. Seeing phantoms. Seeing a black figure. My life hanging on a thread. I mean, who would imagine that?
And now I'm here. Scared for my life. Holding hands with my love. I realize, I'm never getting over this, am I? These memories are always going to be inside me. Choking at me and threatening me with nightmares. This is my life whether or not I like it, so I have to make the most of it.
"Harry, this is my dream. I've seen this book in my dream." I tell him with a sense of alarm.
He looks at me worried with a frown on his face. I become more alarmed, "Is this a dream?! Am I dreaming?!" I rush to pinch my arm.
"What? No! No, this isn't a dream Emery." Harry says loudly. I pinch myself and close my eyes. I open them. I'm still here.
"Oh. Oh my god. Okay. I thought I was dreaming." I breathe in deeply but a sour stench makes me cough. Harry pats my back lightly "Harry," I finish coughing. "We need to open the book." He nods slowly and takes me hand in his. We walk up to the podium. A bad shiver runs through my spine and I squeeze Harry's hand. I make sure I'm still recording and then we both place our hands on the book.
"Ready?" We both ask at the same time making us laugh nervously.
We open the book.
My head feels so dizzy and heavy. I try lifting it up but it brings a numbing pain. I open my eyes. When did I even close them? Why am I laying on the ground? When did I lay on the ground?
I take in my surroundings. I'm laying on dry dirt wearing odd clothes. Where am I? I sit up an notice I'm no longer in the mansion. People around me walk by me like they can't even see me.
I hurriedly pick myself up and call for Harry. I get no answer and my heart begins thumping loudly.
I'm wearing a dress, those old-style ones worn back in the day. The brown color makes it seem plain and I grab at the fabric. I'm so confused. How did I get here?
